A Hidden Child
by Zebvlun
Summary: Maybe, almost everyone in this world has his own secrets to keep. We do not know everything about something, nor is it a must to do so. Most of the time, people keep secrets to save his own, or another one's reputation; like me.
1. Chapter 1: hurry

Maybe, almost everyone in this world has his own secrets to keep. Someone does not know the whole truth about another. We do not know everything about something, nor is it a must to do so. Most of the time, people keep secrets to save his own, or another's reputation; like me.

This was what I thought as I circumnavigated our living room for several times. I was a very problematic sight, my right hand held the cigarette, my left in my pocket and my chin on my chest. My wife followed me with her sight over the handkerchief she was stitching.

"Dear, are you thinking about that again?" she broke the silence which hung over us.

"Of course, Liz, it's pretty bothering." I raised the cigarette to my lips then puffed.

Our daughter popped out of the dining room. She looked at me then to her mother.

"Are you going to school, Alex?" I asked, picking my daughter up.

"Yes Daddy." She turned to Liz, "Are you fighting?"

"No darling, Daddy and I are just talking about something."

"All right, I must be going." I put her down then she kissed her mother and I then bade goodbye.

I could remember when I used to be in Alex's place. I would eat my breakfast then bid my parents goodbye, if Father is there, he would pick me up, just how I did with Alex, and kiss me.

"We must go, Ralph." Liz said, breaking my thoughts.

"What?"

"I'm going with you."

"It's cold outside. What are you saying, by the way?"

"You know, it's open to the public, everybody can go, and of course, you can go there too. Most of them do not even know him personally, but you, you know him _more than_ personally."

I sat beside my wife. She embraced me tightly. I looked at the cigarette in my hand, Liz noticed it then smiled. She wrapped her hand around my wrist which held the cigarette.

"You got that habit from him, didn't you?" she asked.

I smiled and nodded.

We sat together like that for a long time until I stood up. "I'm eating breakfast." I said.

"I sometimes think it funny that you smoke before eating. Smoking is your priority than eating." She said grinning.

"It's some kind of, um, invigorating." I replied.

Liz chuckled.

I strode to the dining room. The newspaper was on the table, a page folded to a boat. Alexandra surely did that. I picked the miniature boat up. My daughter did not seem to be the one who did it. As I looked at it, the boat seemed to be made by him. The folds were exactly how he taught me. I unfolded the boat then flattened it on the table in front of me. It was the page where the article about him was printed, I have read it.

I stood up and smoked in front of the window. I scanned the snowing outdoors. There were children playing snowball fights. War must be in everyone's blood, but in his whole life with me, he always sought halcyon.

**-0-**

As a matter of fact, I did not eat. I just rushed upstairs then put on my winter clothes and went downstairs. I hurried outside. Something compelled me to walk, though it's a little bit far from our house.

I never looked up as I walked. I content myself looking on the snowy path beneath my feet. Two men passed by me, they were talking about that too. The event spread like wildfire in the snowy season. There were articles, announcements and rumors. People from different states in life flocked towards its direction, some of them in fancy cars while others on foot. Everyone who passes by seems to be talking about that. I slowed down. _Why am I in such a hurry?_ I thought.

_Author's Note: if you want me to continue, please review..._


	2. Chapter 2: Paris

Thirty-two years ago in the late period of autumn of 1893 in Paris, France, a man shared a table with a lady in a restaurant. They did not know each other before, until the woman decided to start a conversation with the man.

"It's cold tonight, don't you think, sir?" the lady said.

"I agree, winter must be coming soon." The man replied.

"I see that you aren't French."

"I'm a Norwegian."

The conversation drifted to other topics.

**-0-**

Five days later, the man was strolling in the streets of Paris.

"Hello," a lady's voice addressed him.

"Oh, it's you." He smiled then they walked together.

Paris seemed to be too small for them. They would meet each other frequently by accident. Fate seemed to deliberately cross their paths as their sympathy towards each other blossomed into love.

One morning, the man woke up with the woman beside him. Something obviously happened between them last night.

"This is wrong." The man told himself.

He stood up and put on his clothes. He paced the hotel room up and down.

"This is wrong, totally wrong." He whispered to himself.

The woman was awakened by his footsteps.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Everything, Martha, everything's wrong." He lit a cigarette.

She stood up and dressed.

"Why?" she asked again.

"This is not supposed to happen." He replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think you really know me, Martha Jones?"

"Of course, I trust you."

The man sighed and looked at the ceiling. Guilt seeped in him when he heard the words 'I trust you'. He sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands.

"I mustn't have lied to you in the first place, Martha. My nationality and my real name is not what I told you." The man said.

"Then, who are you?" Martha asked, hurt.

"I am English, like you."

"And your name is?"

"Sherlock Holmes." he closed his eyes and bit his lips. The name he uttered was the lash of a whip to him.

Martha gasped. "But you're. You're…" she stammered.

"Dead, I know, that's what Watson told everyone. He does not know that I'm alive."

He paused, and then added. "Martha, will you marry me?"

She sat beside him and said, "I wouldn't be the reason for your ruined reputation."

"But, Martha."

"No one will know, I promise."

"What do you want me to do, forget about what happened last night?" He hung his head. "Forget about _you_?"

"I'm sorry, but that's I want you to do." She held his face in her hands. "Though it's not a must that you forget me."

That afternoon, Sherlock Holmes decided to leave for England.

_Author's note: I'm trying my best to catch up with the timeframe._


	3. Chapter 3: Ralph

April 9, 1894, Sherlock Holmes received a telegram from Martha Jones telling him that she just gave birth to a baby boy. After reading this, he immediately went to the address indicated.

As he rode the cab going to Martha Jones's address, minutes passed like hours to Sherlock Holmes. He felt an unexplainable excitement in him. He thought about the child, how he would look like, what would he be when he grow up, what would he feel upon seeing him. He thought about Martha. He longs to see her smile, that beautiful smile which won his affections. He thought about everything which awaits him and how he would face it when the cab halted and he stepped out with a sigh.

**-0-**

He found Martha on a bed with a baby.

"You came." She greeted him with a smile. Sherlock Holmes's heart secretly rejoiced upon seeing that smile he missed so much.

He stood in front of the child who opened his eyes at once. The boy's eyes were unmistakably his. He touched his own to make sure it was still there. The baby's eyes were so much the same as his.

"What are we going to name him?" Martha asked.

"Haven't you named him yet?"

"You name him."

Sherlock Holmes thought for a while then smiled to himself.

"Ralph, Ralph Holmes." He turned to his son and said, "Hello, Ralph." His heart almost leaped with joy as the little boy smiled.


	4. Chapter 4: pain

"Ralph!" someone called out.

"Ralph Holmes!"

This time, I knew it was me. I turned around and saw an elderly man, stout and gray mustached.

"Yes, sir?" I said.

"Why, my boy, don't you remember me?"

"Er, no, sir."

"It's me, Dr. Watson."

"Uncle John!" I shook hands with him.

"How are Elizabeth and Alexandra?"

"They're fine, just a bit shaken. Alex cried all day when we told her about it."

"Poor little Alex. I last saw her and Elizabeth with you five years ago." He sighed.

"Yes, in Uncle Mycroft's funeral in 1920." I sighed. "It hurts a lot, Uncle John, having lost another, more important one."

"I know your pain, lad." He patted my shoulder.

That pain in my heart swelled as we walked nearer towards my father's funeral.

_Author's note: I'm sorry if the chapters were a bit too short. I did them in a hurry because of school (sigh)._


	5. Chapter 5: Miranda

When I was very young, my father would visit us whenever he is unoccupied. Sometimes, he would stay for more than a week, but most of the time, for two or three days. I knew how I stood in my father's world, the part of his world which is public. I knew that he was trying to keep his affair with my mother a secret, as how my mother herself wanted it. I have nothing against my father because I know that he loves me. He would spend most of his time with me whenever he is around. We would play games together. He would teach me things which are not taught in school. Sometimes, he would tell me stories in which he himself has a role and are obviously his clients'. He is a loving father who would still tell you your faults.

Shortly after I turned four, my mother married a lawyer. My stepfather treated me like his own child. A year after their marriage, my mother gave birth to my half-sister, Miranda. My father would still visit us whenever he has time.

My father's visits became less frequent but he still finds time to write to us.

When I was twelve and Miranda, seven, our mother got sick, my stepfather became irritable and problematic. Miranda's father would yell at us and beat us for small faults. I can endure my own pain, but every time I see my dearest sister beaten like that, I can not help but blaze with fury.

Once, Miranda was beaten very badly. My temper was quickly rising. I went to my crying sister and hugged her.

"She's your own daughter, how can you do this to her?!" I shouted.

He just looked at his daughter's tearful eyes and mine which was flaming with anger. Harold Croft turned his back to us and walked away.

"Ralph….. thank…. you…." Miranda told me between her sobs.

I simply hugged her tighter.

The next day, Miranda's father did not talk to us. He did not even look at us. I knew that he realized his mistakes.

**-0-**

I wrote to my own father telling him what had happened and I eventually received a reply. He said in the letter that he would be very pleased to have me with him. He could not do so at the time because of a promise he kept with my mother when I was born. Father seemed to take nobody's side. He said that my stepfather was just overcome by his emotions towards our mother's illness and would not do it to Miranda or me if he was feeling good.


	6. Chapter 6: maize

My Mother died in 1906. Before she left this world, my father was able to talk to her, she permitted him to take me.

After her burial, I bade farewell to little Mimi and my stepfather, who, after some words with my father, eventually apologized to my sister and me.

Father enrolled me to a boarding school some time after my arrival at the Sussex Downs. I first met Dr. Watson when he visited us one holiday.

"Goodness," he said when he saw me. "If only your hair is the same as your Father's, I would totally think that I traveled time!"

My Father and I just laughed that laugh remarkable to us. He put his hand on my maize hair which is the only feature I got from my dear mother. I his eyes gleam with tears as he touched my hair. I can feel that he was reminded of my mother.


	7. Chapter 7: The Book of Life

One day, during my vacation from school, I was reading one of my Father's articles about deduction in the study room. He was busy on his bees at the time.

As I was reading "The Book of Life", Father entered the room.

"Father," I called out to him.

"Yes, Ralph?" he replied.

"What if I would be a detective, like you?" I said.

Father glared at me.

"Father, I want your opinion, not your glare." I said.

"I do not think it is advisable for you, son." He looked away.

"Why?" I said. "You taught me."

My Father did not reply.

"Father," I said firmly.

"It's dangerous." He was not looking at me, still.

"I know. I am ready for it."

"Did you not hear what I said, Ralph? Being a detective is an extremely dangerous occupation. You know that I love you, my dearest son. I do not want you in danger. I do not want to lose another beloved without me beside him." My Father said, his back turned to me all the time.

I kept silent. I knew what he wanted to tell me.

Sherlock Holmes went out of the room without a word. Even if he would not show it, his tears are visible in my guilty heart.


	8. Chapter 8: Altamont

I was in college when Father wrote to me saying that the Premier visited him and he was planning to go to the States. He asked me if I will go with him. I was just a year away from graduating with a degree in arts so, I decided to refuse.

I was left here in England receiving letters from Sherlock Holmes in Chicago. He took up another alias of Altamont and grew a goatee. He told me that his goal was almost at hand and I congratulated him for that.

Two years later, in 1914, he wrote to me, saying that he had set foot on the British Territory. He also told me that after some days, he would visit me in the house that I had recently bought in Yorkshire.

Ten days later, I found myself sketching in the attic with my fiancée, Elizabeth, reading a novel beside me. The housekeeper, as how I heard the door open and close, ushered in two people. I stood up and beckoned Liz to follow me. We met the housekeeper on the third step of the second flight of stairs from the attic.

"Where are they?" I asked.

"They're in the living room, sir."

I hurried down the remaining seventeen steps puling Liz along with me.

"Why are you in such a hurry, Ralph?" Elizabeth said with asperity.

"I don't know, something is pulling me to the living room." The same thing always happens to me whenever Father is around.

We arrived at the living room. Upon hearing our steps, one of the men stood up and looked at us.

"Father!" I squealed like a child and hugged him.

"I missed you, son." He said, wrapping his arms round me.

I gazed at my Father's companion whom I did not recognize at once. "Uncle John, is that you?"

"I never thought you'd still recognize me!" He said as I shook hands with him.

I took Liz by the hand. "Father, Uncle John, this is my fiancée, Elizabeth."

"A pleasure to meet you." Liz curtsied.

"I am much pleased to meet you, my girl." Father said.

We spent the whole day together. There were laughter and extensive chats about Father's stay in the States and my two years without him. Uncle John went home early. I have never felt that kind of joy upon seeing my father ever since I was a child. I missed him so much during those years that he was away.

Liz and I were married within three months. Two years later, we had Alexandra. My family was a harmonious one. Father would frequently visit us and he will amuse Alex with his stories and knowledge.


	9. Chapter 9: funeral

As I sat in front of the ebony coffin surrounded with flowers with my face in my hands, people were flocking in. There were former clients, friends, acquaintances and even former Scotland Yard officials. Most of those people who was not able to make his acquaintance while he was still alive went there out of curiosity or sympathy.

Although I was unable to see anything besides my hand and, occasionally, the floor, I was aware that two people sat beside me. As what I could note from their weight, one was older than the other. These men are probably father and son.

"You know, lad," the elderly man beside me said. "I owe the deceased my life, my fortune and the death of the hound." He said the latter with a chuckle.

I lifted my head up and tried to catch a glimpse of the man whom I suspect was Sir Henry Baskerville. I unintentionally caught his eye, but I did not let go of his gaze. As I opened my mouth to utter some words, his plain gaze was mixed with an expression of astonishment. At first, I could not tell why he seemed surprised upon seeing me. After glaring at me for some time, he turned to my Father's photograph on the coffin; I finally realized what caused his amazement.

I stood up and took my hat. "I must be going," was all I can say.

I know, I was not supposed to show myself in my Father's funeral, but, I can not help it.

I was already walking towards the exit when I remembered to put my hat on. I pulled it lower, if only it could cover my whole face. Everyone who saw my face followed me with their gaze then glared at that photograph of my Father.


	10. Chapter 10: In the Attic

When I arrived home, lunch was already served.

"Come, dear, the food is waiting." Liz greeted me with a smile.

"I'm not hungry." I said, not even looking at her.

I went to the attic. It was the only place I know I can find peace. There was an old armchair there. I sat down, my elbows on its arms and my fingertips pressed together.

I closed my eyes and thought.

**-O-**

Once, when I was in my teens, I asked my Father "Was I made by mistake?" I said this after I committed an unintentional grave failure which I do not wish to recall.

My Father looked at me and smiled bitterly, "Honestly, Ralph, that was what I used to think about you when you were not yet born." He said frankly.

These words sent pain to my heart.

"That was what I USED to think," He emphasized. "But when you were born, my dear son, a good little cherub was sent to your mother and me, and illuminated our lives." He smiled at me and I was my sadness was replaced by joy.

**-O-**

I opened my eyes, I saw my father gazing at me, young, in his early thirties, sitting the same way I sat. I looked harder and realized that I was looking at my own reflection on the dusty mirror in front of me.

Maybe, almost everyone in this world has his own secrets to keep. Someone does not know the whole truth about another. We do not know everything about something, nor is it a must to do so. Most of the time, people keep secrets to save his own, or another's reputation; like me, a hidden child.


End file.
